big book of sterek
by cnmarie
Summary: a bunch of oneshots that i found and read, or just skimmed and thought it was funny. might contain smut. so just a fair warning. none of these belong to me btw.
1. (not so) out of his league

**a/n: **well. the last fic i posted kinda blew up. so i decided to post some oneshots while i look for some fics. to keep you guys happy.

this one is probably one of my favorites.

**cut**

Professor Hale is one hell of a fine specimen. GQ models could definitely learn a thing or two from him. There's really no other way to put it, and everyone agrees. He is unquestionably worthy of the red hot chili in and could have possibly been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

Despite teaching history (of all subjects and on Mondays and Fridays no less), his lectures were always full with students opting to take his class as a GE course, as opposed to the other two history professors well beyond their fifties and voices that will put you to sleep in a sec; they could give Professor Cuthbert Binns a run for his money.

Sure, most (all) of the students might go to see his (totally amazing) ass with jeans that just accentuate it, and tight Henley's that leave just enough to the imagination or simply those bright, emerald, wonderful eyes of his or the stubble sprinkled on his chiseled jaw or- ok well the students might come to just drool at his existence but, Professor Hale is a good enough teacher. He had some trouble when he first started (what with his surly disposition), unsure of how to make history interesting but once he got the hang of it, he managed to enthrall the students (that might be more because of his looks though).

There has been a few times when he'll slip, as if he's still unsure of what to do surrounded by so many people. It's those times when he can be extremely intimidating, to the point that students have imagined his eyes flashing red and make them be wary of not doing any wrong moves. But Professor Hale always tries to make it up for those episodes. And he's extremely perceptive. It was weird at first, how Professor Hale knew if you were texting (despite being across the lecture hall) or if you were lying about the tiniest thing even when the lie was pretty believable to anyone else. He'd question you and just glare at you until you broke down and told the truth. It was terrifying, to say the least, like being cornered prey. So after a few weeks, the students knew better than to whisper or do anything questionable because apparently, Professor Hale caught everything.

**cut**

It's Sarah's third year of being Professor Hale's TA, first as head TA, and the looks from the new students as they take in all of Professor Hale will never get old. It is also extremely predictable that at least one student will trip trying to find a seat (usually in the front) while trying to make sure their history professor is really that good-looking and will not suddenly disappear. There's also those that give a prayer of thanks to their respective deities when they look at Professor Hale as if he were a god too.

She won't lie and say she hadn't totally objectified the not-yet-thirty-year-old professor; it took a while before she could look at Professor Hale's face without blushing a deep red. Just his voice was enough for anyone to melt (or shiver with lust) because it was deep and growly and you could feel it down to your toes. But, unfortunately (for everyone lusting after him, of course), the ring on his left hand made it clear he was taken. Said ring had suddenly appeared during Sarah's second year as his TA, but even before then he made it clear with was with someone.

Ok so, sure, he never provided information about the lucky woman (man?). Professor Hale had rejected various advances by other professors and (either extremely brave or extremely stupid) students with a polite (but very firm) I'm happily married yet with no indication as to whom he was married. So of course, there were still the few that said he could simply be wearing the ring just to throw people off. And since people always like to hold on to hope, the ring on the history professor didn't deter them at all. In fact, it had the opposite effect, encouraging them to continue their advances because people always want what they can't have. And the thrill of chasing a hot professor was everyone's fantasy at some point in their lives.

Sarah, however, knew better (or at least, now she did). It wasn't until she was head TA (because it meant she had to go to all the lectures) that she actually got to meet the lucky person who managed to put a ring on Professor Hale's finger. It was possibly one of the most embarrassing moment in her life (definitely in the top three), because she had pretty much insinuated that Professor Hale was so completely out of anyone's league, she couldn't believe a student, no less, was married to him.

It was a few weeks before winter break, and therefore finals, and even after being well into the quarter, students still continued to pursue Professor Hale's attention to their assets by wearing tight clothes, guys and girls alike. It made Sarah snort to herself because northern California was far from the sunny SoCal so it was hard to look alluring while shivering from head to toe. She had to give them an A for effort though- or obstinacy at this point.

It happened on a particular Monday, when Sarah wanted nothing more than to go back to her room and hibernate until finals week, when a guy walked in through the back doors of the auditorium. She figured he was a student (and clearly not there to impress Professor Hale because of all the layers and plaid and beanie that clearly hid his messy locks). He totally had this boyish look to him that would definitely get him arrested if he even thought about buying cigarettes, it was all very cute in a geeky sort of way. She would've ignored him completely otherwise, except that she had no recollection of him ever being in class before and he was walking in during the middle of lecture. If it had been Sarah, she would've bailed out on lecture by then.

What was odd though, Sarah noticed, was that Professor Hale was well aware of the student, stiffening before he even looked at who had entered, and once he turned around, it was as if he was being punished by the gods themselves (if the sudden frown combined with a pained look on his face was any indication). Which- weird. She looked back at the student, who was staring at the history professor with a grin, as if he knew the negative effect his sudden appearance had brought on.

Apparently, her staring didn't go unnoticed because the student leaned over to whisper, "Hey, I'm Stiles."

"Stiles?"

He grinned, a bit lopsided, like he got that all the time. "Self-proclaimed nickname, I'd rather save you from trying to pronounce my name."

"O-ok…?" She shook his outstretched hand. "Sarah, Professor Hale's TA." That got her a raised eyebrow and an amused look. At this point, other students would be trying to get a bit of an insider on Professor Hale. "Are you a student?"

Stiles grinned. "Yeah, a senior." So she'd been right, he was a student, but not one she had seen at lecture before. "Do you like being his TA?"

Sarah nodded, completely honest. "He's different than most professors. I'll admit he was a bit difficult at the beginning, but he makes up for it."

If possible, Stiles' grin got bigger. "Well, he certainly isn't sore on the eyes." His honey brown eyes flickered to the front of the class, humor dancing around them.

She had been expecting this, somehow all conversation about Professor Hale went back to his looks (which she totally understood, but still), so she tried not to sound too harsh when she quickly said, "He's happily married."

"Happily married?" Stiles snorted, clearly not bothered by her tone as he turned to look at her again. "Is that what he tells everyone? I don't know, it seems like he could still use some loosening up." Up front, Professor Hale broke his chalk in two, but neither noticed.

At this point, Sarah should have just stopped talking, because Professor Hale heard everything. But she couldn't just leave this guy to mouth off about her professor and whomever his spouse was, real or fictional. "Well he's been quite happy for the years I've been his TA." She paused before continuing, unsure if she should. "And he totally rejected the cheerleading coach." While Professor Hale had everyone panting after him out of the males in the school faculty, the cheerleading coach was a close equivalent for the females. Said coach had asked out the history professor at the beginning of the quarter and when word got around, there had been mixed emotions until Professor Hale had slammed a fist on the table and growled 'I. Am. Married.' before continuing with that day's lecture. "Whoever it is he's married to, they must be pretty great." And ok, so maybe she shouldn't be insulting Stiles (which would lead to future mortification), but Professor Hale deserved a break.

No one noticed the tip of their professor's ears turn red.

Stiles stared at her with raised eyebrows. "Are you saying Professor Hale is out of my league?" He didn't sound offended, in fact, Sarah would think he sounded amused, maybe there was even contained glee, like he was laughing at her.

She tried not to blush. "Hey, you said it."

Stiles gaped at her for a second before he outright laughed. In the middle of lecture. Interrupting Professor Hale. Sarah could feel the color leave her face in an instant when two piercing green eyes were suddenly glaring at them and all the students turned to look at them, like they knew what a horrible mistake they'd done.

She wanted to die.

"Mr. Stilinski, I would appreciate it if you'd stop flirting with my TA." Professor Hale said, through gritted teeth. At this point, the whole class was cemetery-levels of quiet and oh god, why was Stiles smiling?

Sarah wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her whole as she tried to look anywhere but the front of the class. The relaxed feeling she had developed around the history professor was suddenly slipping through her fingers.

"Sorry, Professor." Stiles said, grinning. The way he said professor was with the same coy tone that Sarah had heard other students try (and fail miserably) to use when flirting. "She's just very nice."

Said TA looked completely mortified. "Stiles, I swear to god- shut up." Sarah hissed, not caring that she didn't know Stiles at all, but the looksProfessor Hale was giving them. Oh god.

"I thought I made it clear that only registered students to the class were allowed to be here." It seemed like their professor was trying to insinuate something more than simply being registered. Like Stiles just wasn't allowed anywhere near him.

But Stiles continued to grin cheekily, clearly unabashed at the open hostility that Professor Hale was radiating. "I couldn't resist checking out your lecture, Professor, who knew history could be so alluring?" By now, there was no question that Stiles was openly leering at the older male and Sarah was starting to have existential issues.

"You've been distracting my TA since you got here, in the middle of lecture might I add, which means you have no idea what I've been teaching. And now you've caused a disruption." Professor Hale narrowed his eyes at the boy, who had the gall to raise an eyebrow back at him (dear god, that boy is dead). "Stay after class."

Stiles saluted at him, eyes twinkling, but stayed quiet, something Sarah thought had been impossible. With that, Professor Hale went back to teaching, but the rest of the students were afraid to breathe now. The display of authority would have been welcomed and completely lust worthy in any other situation, but they knew better than to further antagonize the professor.

"You have to apologize. Oh god, I can't believe you did that." Sarah hissed, eyes darting to the front, the professor had already picked up where he was before the interruption. She didn't want him to call them out again but she couldn't figure out why Stiles was so relaxed about this. Maybe there was something wrong with his mind. It was the only logical explanation. "I'm dead. I'm so, so dead."

"Oh don't worry, we'll be scot-free." Stiles answered, at least having the decency to whisper. He stretched his arms in front of him, the light coming from the windows catching something in his left hand but he leaned back, throwing his arms behind his head before Sarah could see what had caused the glint.

For the rest of the class, Sarah refused to acknowledge the boy next to her. She kept biting her thumb, minutes ticking by until finally, finally, Professor Hale dismissed the class. No one stayed behind. Usually, there would be a group of (braver and stupid) students who'd try to engage the green-eyed male in a conversation, but now, everyone felt the reprimand second-hand and just rushed out of the lecture hall.

Sarah knew she'd have to explain herself, try to salvage whatever dignity she had left. But she figured it'd be better if she let Professor Hale cool down after dealing with Stiles.

She was almost out of the building, leaving without a second glance at Stiles, before she groaned. She couldn't just leave. Yeah Stiles was the one who laughed, but she felt like maybe she provoked it and ok, she totally did. She couldn't let Stiles take all the blame even if he deserved it.

So she walked back, begrudgingly, to the lecture hall, only to stop when she got closer and could hear he conversation going on inside.

"-told you not to come when I'm teaching." That deep gravel was definitely from Professor Hale.

"-wanted to see the hunk of a teacher in the history department that everyone was talking about. I was disappointed it was just you." Sarah knew she had a confused look on her face. Stiles was talking to Professor Hale like they were awfully familiar with each other (and it should've clicked right there, really).

"-freaked out my head TA-"

"-well she-"

"She's right outside." Professor Hale cut though, making Sarah freeze in her attempt at sneaking closer to the door. He cleared his throat before speaking louder. "Sarah, please come in."

"Freakishly perceptive." Sarah grumbled to herself before stepping back into the lecture hall, looking sheepish. "Hi, professor."

Stiles was sitting on the table, the amused look still on his face while his legs dangled; Professor Hale was leaning against the blackboard.

"Sarah." Professor Hale nodded once in acknowledgement.

"I-I'm really sorry about today." Sarah quickly said. "I might've caused Stiles to laugh." She winced slightly.

"Want to know what she said?" Stiles asked, smiling.

Something told her that Professor Hale already knew what Sarah had said, and she really didn't want a repeat. "Stiles-don't-"

"She said you were married to someone 'pretty great' and that you were out of my league."

Sarah groaned. She deeply regretted ever coming back here.

Professor Hale sighed. But there was fondness beneath the exasperated expression. "Ignore him, Sarah, it's something I do, often."

"Hey!"

By now, she was suspicious (and as a detective she would definitely die on the job). They were acting way too close than the typical professor-student relationship. "So um, how do you know each other?" She looked from one male to the other, rethinking her sudden interest when Stiles grinned widely. Nothing good ever followed that look.

"Funny you should ask-"

"Stiles…." Professor Hale growled. Like literal type of growl. Sarah didn't know it was possible to growl out names.

"What?" Stiles asked, suddenly whining. "Oh come on, after today I think she deserves to know. Unless you think I'm not pretty great?"

Now, after working with Professor Hale, she knew that he never backed down. No matter what the issue was, if he set his mind, there was nothing to say the history professor. It was like he always needed to have the upper hand. But the fact that his lips formed a thin line before he nodded at Stiles, well that should've been the final clue as to whatever was going on.

Stiles smiled widely, jumping off the table and went over to wrap an arm around Professor Hale's waist. Sarah was pretty sure she was openly gaping at this point.

"I'm a lot more flexible than the cheerleading coach." Stiles said, winking at Sarah.

"Oh my g-Stiles." Professor Hale threw his head back, not even flinching when he hit the blackboard, and closed his eyes. It seemed he was praying for mercy.

Sarah stared at them with her mouth open, her eyes finally going to the matching silver rings. "You-you're. Holy shi-no. You two-" and because she figured it didn't matter that the hole was deep enough already, she managed to pull off an incredulous look. "How'd that happen?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "Excuse you, I'll have you know-"

"Stiles." Professor Hale cut in, and maybe it was a trick of the light but his eyes looked red for a second. They were green when Sarah looked again, so she tried not to worry about it. There were other pressing matters at hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"-say he was out of my league?" Stiles finished, unhelpfully.

Sarah flushed. "Sorry." She mumbled again, unsure of what else to say. This wasn't in the TA handbook.

She heard Professor Hale sigh again, this time giving Stiles a withering look, who promptly answered it by sticking his tongue out. She eyed the exchange with a mixture of emotions; the two just seemed so different. And Stiles could easily pass off for seventeen. She wasn't sure if it'd be rude to straight out ask Stiles how old he was so she opted for something slightly safer. "How- um how long have you two…" Se trailed off, suddenly not sure if she should continue. "Sorry, just, I should probably go and-"

"It's fine, Sarah." Professor Hale said. "We've known each other since Stiles was sixteen. Got together when he turned eighteen."

Stiles crossed his arms. "Would've gotten together earlier if you didn't have this need to protect my virtue." He grumbled, earning a glare from the older male.

"And get shot by your father? No, thank you." Even if it looked like Professor Hale was sneering, the underlying fondness was not hard to miss.

Sarah looked at them. It was so easy to see how in love they were. Professor Hale seemed more open just by simply having Stiles there, he was comfortable, and completely different that how he was when he was teaching. During lecture, it always felt like he was trying too hard, like he had to prove he could keep the students interested in the material. Now, he looked like he could take on whatever as long as Stiles was there.

She cleared her throat when it felt like both had forgotten about her during their staring contest. And by their (Stiles', really) slight flinches, they totally had.

"Sorry." At least Professor Hale looked sheepish, Stiles just looked smug. "Sarah Sanders, this is my husband, Stiles Stilinski." Sarah definitely did not miss the look of pure bliss and pride when Professor Hale said that.

"It's Hale now, thank you very much." Stiles said, preening when Professor Hale looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. "Awesome alliteration there."

"Oh um- thanks...?" She couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. "Stiles Hale?"

At least this time Stiles didn't get offended, he laughed openly again. "We're working on that. Derek doesn't want our future children to be subjected to the Stilinski family name."

"Children?" Sarah allowed herself to be amused. Although the image of Professor, of Derek, Hale with children was definitely something to be seen.

"Stiles, I swear to god. Shut. Up." The blush on Professor Hale's cheeks was unmistakable now.

Sarah smiled hesitantly, not used to the display of emotions the history professor was currently showing. "I should- I should really go now. I'm sorry about today." She said, biting her lower lip. "But it was nice to finally meet Professor Hale's significant other." She added, looking back at Stiles.

"Sorry I didn't exceed expectations."

Sarah flinched slightly. "I really am sorry about-" But Stiles was already waving away her apology, smiling.

"It's ok, I didn't believe it either when he finally returned my advances." Stiles said, looking at Professor Hale with an adoring expression. "Still can't believe it sometimes." He continued, softer this time.

And Sarah knew that look, obviously not from personal experience, but she had seen enough movies to know that that look followed. So she tried not to scramble to the door. "Right, ok, nice talk. See you Friday, Professor! Bye, Stiles!"

She didn't hear any response from either of them, which was equal parts embarrassing and arousing, because she knew exactly what was bound to happen. Her suspicions were only proven correct when not a second later, a heavily worded sentence in Stiles' unmistakable voice echoed out into the hallway just as the doors to the lecture hall were closing.

Sarah knew it would take years before she'd be able to look at Professor Hale in the face without blushing, again (but this time for completely different reasons).


	2. on the getaway mile

**a/n: **lowkey forgot this book existed. anyways please enjoy magicalvigilantedragqueen!stiles with a dash of angst.

**cut**

When Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, he doesn't expect anyone to follow him.

A lot of things have changed over the years. Scott has finally grown into his alpha status, thank god. Kira, Lydia, and Mason have also figured out the extent of their abilities, harnessed them, put them to good use.

Stiles has, too, but they don't know that. They don't even know he has abilities.

Well, he does, and they're pretty badass.

It was the summer after senior year. Shit had gone down, people had gotten hurt, Stiles had gotten nightmares for weeks, was still having them, and he just…

He was tired. Of all of it.

So he packed up his bags, said goodbye to his dad and his friends, his pack, and left for San Fran. It was there, in the big city, surrounded by people he didn't know and problems he wasn't needed to solve, that Stiles finally came into himself as a person, not just a researcher, or strategist, or a fighter. Just, as Stiles.

He went to pride. He let himself discover what he liked, what he didn't like, and who he liked it with. Since, he has come to the conclusion that he is bisexual, and not all that kinky.

Which he's okay with, really. Maybe he was kinda hoping to be a bit more into some of the fun stuff, but he wasn't, and none of his partners made him feel bad for it.

He had found, however, that he kind of enjoyed wearing makeup and high heels.

That story was much more interesting.

Stiles actually wondered if drag queens could just tell somehow. Could just tell by looking at him, because it had happened back home, and then again in San Fran. He had been exploring, found himself in a bar that didn't look twice at his fake ID, and only sat down for a few minutes before he found himself surrounded by a group of friendly drag queens, telling him that he had a perfect complexion for some of their newer makeup.

And so he had followed them into the back room, and they had given him a complete makeover. After, they insisted on him trying on some different clothes: some sparkly dresses, some crop tops with booty shorts, some blouses with mini skirts, before finally settling on a short, tight, and sleeveless golden dress with black fishnet stockings.

He had to admit, he kind of loved it.

Not only were the drag queens incredibly sweet and hilarious, full of funny stories and local gossip, but they also didn't push Stiles to identify why he liked dressing up like this.

He still goes back once a week.

They're also the only ones who know.

They had figured it out with him, actually. The sun had long since left and the nightclubbers had long since come out. Ivy, one of Stiles' favorites of the queens, was chatting with him on the roof of the bar when they heard a shout from the alley next to the building.

The two had raced over to the edge, Ivy in her heels, Stiles still dressed in his street clothes. Looking down, they saw their friend Maple pressed up against the wall, a man in a mask holding a gun to her head.

Stiles had panicked. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes grew wide, his heart raced.

He needed to get down there. He _needed_ to help Maple.

She was going to die.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was standing behind the mugger instead of watching him from thirty feet in the air.

But he didn't let himself be confused for long, letting instinct take over as he twisted the man's arm back, yanking until the gun fell from his fingers. An elbow to the temple had the man lying on the ground, unconscious.

He looked at Maple, then up at Ivy, then down at the man.

All he heard was a frightened and confused, "Stiles? How did you…" before the world tilted and the concrete came up to meet him.

Surprisingly, the queens took it in stride; said they just knew there was something different about him.

Together, they made the discovery that Stiles could teleport. That's what had happened- he had focused so hard on the alley where Maple was, telling himself he needed to be there that instant, and… well. Somehow he made it so.

It wasn't long after the discovery that Stiles felt an urge to use his newfound ability to do something bigger than pop from his bed to his fridge and back again. There had to be something more important than this, some reason for him to have this power.

His mind, unwillingly, went back to Beacon Hills. To solving crimes, beating the bad guys, helping people. Saving people.

He missed it.

And so, with some help from his queens, Stiles had started looking for trouble. They told him where there was likely to be someone in need of help, like a living team of police scanners, and that's where he went.

It felt like sophomore year all over again. He felt out of his depth.

But he got better at it, after the first few months. Sure, he still had to go to the backroom of the bar often enough, a room that was now fully stocked with medical equipment that Sherry had gotten from… somewhere. He was to always tell them when he was going out to find trouble, or try to text them when he accidentally stumbled on some, and he was required to report back to the backroom every time. There, they would make sure he was okay, physically and emotionally, and patch him up if he wasn't. If he didn't show up, they said they would go looking for him, so he always made sure to report back.

The fighting skills took a while to hone, as did the teleporting skills. It was a solid five months before he could teleport more than seven times in a row without passing out. But now, Stiles could do it as many times as he wanted without even getting a little bit dizzy, which left his energy for the actual fighting part. It turned out that Angel used to take self defense classes, so she taught Stiles all that she could. The rest, stiles learned by YouTube videos and trial-and-error.

Now, it had been almost two years. People had taken notice of Stiles- well, not Stiles. But they had taken notice of the mystery person who was popping up all over the city, taking care of thieves and rapists and drunken douchebags looking for a fight. They took notice of the boy in the black hoodie and red ski mask. They plastered his blurry picture all over newspapers and websites and late night talk shows, and they called him a hero, a vigilante, a danger.

They called him Red.

Stiles stays away from most of the conspiracies unless one of the queens points it out to him. He avoids the articles in the paper, turns the channel when the reporter starts in on how **"Another mugger was left tied up in an alley last night, and investigators are calling it yet another act of the mysterious masked man known as 'Red'-"**

He doesn't care about what they're saying; all he cares about is helping innocent people.

One night, however, changes it all.

Stiles is hopping from alley to alley, keeping an ear out for any sign of distress, but it's a quiet night. Calm.

That is, until a gunshot cracks through the sky like thunder.

Stiles is off in a second- on the roof, then on another, and another and another until he can see them, a man lying on the ground, clutching his side, and another man looming over him.

It only takes a second for Stiles to appear behind the armed man, kick the gun from his outstretched hand, and wrap an arm tightly around his neck until the weight in his arms turns limp. He lets the man fall to the ground, not wasting a moment as he rushes over to tuck the gun into his waistband and then fall to his knees beside the bleeding figure.

One gloved hand presses against the wound while the other reaches for the man's pocket, searching for a phone to call the police. But before he can find one, a different hand reaches out and latches onto his wrist, stilling him.

Stiles is about to slap it away- this guy was just fucking shot for god's sake- when a voice pierces through his frantic haze.

_"Stiles."_

Wait. How do they know-?

And that voice, it's familiar-

Stiles snaps his eyes up to the man's face. It's dark, the outline is a little different- longer hair, a fuller beard- but there's no doubt. No second-guessing.

"Derek."

Derek fucking Hale. The love of his life for a good three years. Who disappeared during senior year, off somewhere with Cora. Who Stiles hasn't seen in years.

Was just shot and is lying on the ground of a damp alley, right in front of Stiles.

Oh right, shot.

"Shit, we should probably get that out."

Stiles reaches for him again, but Derek's hand stays firm on his wrist.

He held out the other hand, revealing a bloody bullet nestled in the palm. "It didn't go deep. It's already healing."

"Oh." Stiles gulped.

He doesn't know what to do.

Well, someone was bound to have heard the gunshot, and the police are probably already on their way, so…

"We should get out of here. C'mon, I know where."

Stiles helps pull Derek to his feet, then checks to make sure no blood of Derek's got anywhere. Once all of the precautions are taken care of, Stiles leads Derek back to the bar, entering through the back and gesturing for Derek to go into the backroom.

When they enter, Stiles immediately spots Ivy. She's sitting in the corner on her phone, probably waiting for Stiles to show up to make sure he's unharmed.

He clears his throat. Ivy's head shoots up, and she gasps.

"Stiles! Is that blood? Who's that? Oh lord, he's hurt! Why didn't you call the police?_ You can't be so careless-_"

"Ivy! It's fine, he's okay. I… I know him, okay? I promise, everything's fine. Could you just give us a minute?" Stiles almost begs.

Blessedly, Ivy only gives him a disapproving look, along with one that says We're talking about this later and you're explaining everything before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Then it's quiet. Stiles wrings his hands for a moment before remembering that they're both covered in blood, and that he should probably do something about it.

"Um, here, one sec. Amber should have something back here that you can fit into…" Stiles disposes of his gloves and rifles through one of the many wardrobes, finally pulling out a clean shirt, plain and black, that looks like it would fit Derek. Then, he digs out one of his own shirts, a dark pink one embroidered with the bar's name that the girls gave him for his birthday last year. It isn't until he's also gathered two pairs of grey sweatpants, handing over half of the clothes to Derek, who has just finished washing his hands in the sink in the corner, that he realizes he's still wearing his red mask.

But before he can even begin to reach for it, Derek's already lifting his hands. The fabric slowly slips over his face and hair. Even though he could see Derek with the mask on, it felt different with it off. He noticed that Derek looked softer, older. Not much, but enough to see that whatever he's been doing with his life the last few years, it's been good for him. He looks settled. Content.

And he's looking at Stiles like he missed him.

And god, Stiles missed Derek so fucking much.

Without noticing, Stiles' hands had slightly lifted towards Derek. He aborts the movement, snapping his arms back to his sides, hoping Derek didn't see-

But he did. And there's a soft, almost happy smile on his face, like he's been waiting for this-

Derek lifts his arms up and out, invites Stiles to step into them.

Stiles fucking runs.

At least, he tries to. But they're only standing a few feet away, so the extra momentum just pushes Derek back. He stays upright, though, and encircles Stiles in his arms. They melt together, clutching at skin and clothing, and they're still smeared with Derek's blood, and Stiles feels so overwhelmed, so full of emotions-

And he doesn't even realize he has started crying until Derek's shushing him, stroking his hair, swaying them back and forth.

Why is he crying? Stiles can't find the answer, but he doesn't really care all that much. Not when Derek is standing here, in his arms.

He figures it doesn't really matter, anyway. Stiles has always been a crier. He's not ashamed.

There's no room for shame. He's too full of relief and awe and love.

There are all sorts of long hidden feelings rising inside him, but Stiles lets them in with open arms. He doesn't think he could stop them if he tried.

**cut**

After they're changed and rid of any blood, and Derek's side is completely healed, Stiles lets Ivy back in. Together, they tell Derek about his double life and how it came to be. After some prompting and inquiries about his injury, Derek tells Ivy about werewolves.

To their surprise, she takes in stride.

Well, to be fair, she did witness Stiles teleporting firsthand many times. He supposes there's not much else that can phase her.

(He takes that back when he eventually tells her the story of his highschool years in Beacon Hills. She only passes out, once, though, so Stiles calls it a win.)

He's not at all surprised when the queens immediately bring Derek into the fold. Once they determine that he's in San Fran for the indefinite future, they manage to wrangle him into the makeup chair.

Sadly, he's not really into it. At all. But he still puts up with a little for Stiles' sake. And just because he doesn't like wearing lipstick and short dresses doesn't mean he doesn't like it when Stiles does. The first time Derek sees Stiles in drag, everything is kind of a mess. Stiles is nervous, Derek is flustered, and the queens are all watching from the doorway.

But it's also the first time Derek kisses Stiles, and he doesn't seem to mind the lipstick all that much when it's coming from Stiles' mouth.

Another thing changes with Derek back in Stiles' life, and it becomes evident the first time the reporter says **"The masked crime fighter known as Red has struck again, this time with some help."** The story is accompanied by a blurry picture of Stiles and Derek, both wearing masks, gloved hands joined between them as they stand over a thief in an alley.

Stiles has the photo framed and gives it to Derek as a birthday present a few months later, mostly as a joke. But Derek just smiles fondly at him, places the photo on the bedside table of their shared apartment, and then tackles him to the bed with a kiss.

On the TV by the wall, footage of the two masked men plays on repeat. **"It is still unknown who these heroes are, or what exactly they are to one another, but we can only hope that they're here to stay."**


	3. the dress looks nice on you

**a/n: **ok, i'm kind of a slut for drag queen stiles or just stiles cross dressing in general right now. so, like. you're going to be getting a ton of that stuff for weeks. also i have an ironic sense of humor so please feel free to cringe whenever.

**cut**

How was this Stiles' life? No, really, how? Some random fairy (as in, actual fairy not, you know, a fairy) decided to go on a gay-venture while in Danny's body and now Stiles and Derek were stuck following him/them/whatever to Jungle in attempts to find and free him. And, okay, Stiles thought it was just demons that went around possessing innocent people. Why did fairies have to join in the mix of supposed-to-be mythological creatures to make their way to Beacon Hills. What the hell was so special about Beacon Hills?

"I hate you." Stiles held the bag of clothes in front of him.

"Just put them on, Stilinski."

If he had known his best friend turning into a werewolf would eventually lead him to this, dressing in drag, Stiles would never have made Scott follow him into the woods that night.

"I don't know if you know this, man, but I've got hair normal women and drag queens don't so..."

Derek stepped forward, reached into the bag and pulled out a small box. "Here."

"What?" Stiles stared at the box some. "What?" He stared some more. Wax? "No. Not even a little bit. No."

Half an hour later Stiles' skin was red and throbbing in pain.

"For a kid you've got a lot of hair."

"Had. I had a lot of hair."

He kept rubbing at his arms and legs. It felt fuckign weird. He'd stood firm when Derek tried coming at his eyebrows, though. He gave no fucks that they'd grow back. No one was touching them. And when Stiles suggested they try it out on Derek first, just to see, the older man backed off in a hurry. Yeah, that's what Stiles thought.

"And I'm not a kid, jerk off. I turned 18 two weeks ago."

"Just put on the dress, Stiles. Please." Even if the please was growled out, Stiles was shocked enough to hear it that he did as Derek asked.

"Okay. But I don't think yellow is really my color."

"Shut up, Stiles."

**cut**

"I don't think yellow's really your color, sweetie."

Stiles elbowed Derek in the ribs, hard and ow, at the first words out of Gloria Hole's mouth. Gloria Hole was the diva at Jungle and one of Stiles friends thanks, ironically enough, to having to go after Danny back when Jackson was the kanima and generally making his life a living hell outside the normal doucheness.

Once Derek had explained his plan - and it was a poor plan at that - Stiles had taken charge and called ahead to Gloria. After the waxing incident, Stiles did not trust Derek coming after him with any kind of beauty products. So he asked Gloria to take him under her bedazzled wing, pretty him up in time for the amateur drag night Jungle was putting on.

They were backstage with her now, Stiles in the godawful yellow dress Derek had obviously been high on wolfsbane while picking out, and Derek standing so straight and rigid Stiles worried he'd end up snapping himself in half with the force of it.

"You're totally right." Gloria had been skeptical when Stiles initially called and was now eying him like he was treating this all as a joke. He couldn't come out and tell her that they were after a teenager who'd been possessed, now could they? Still, he managed to settle on a sort of truth. "This is my first time trying anything like this and I didn't know what to do or what to wear. My friend here picked out the dress for me. I mean, I don't even have a name yet!"

"Oh honey, talk about waiting til the last possible second. You're lucky you're so adorable." Stiles beamed as Gloria looked him up and down. "Plus, the men here are going to eat you right up."

Stiles really hoped the music was loud enough to block out the sound of Derek's growling. Judging by the way Gloria's eyes fell to Derek, though, it hadn't.

"What about your friend?" Gloria licked her lips. "He interested in trying out?"

"Does it look like it?" Derek all but hissed out.

His harsh tone didn't have much of an effect on Gloria. She shrugged and turned her attention back to Stiles.

"Don't let her gruff exterior fool you. She goes by Cuntalina Fucklebitch most weekends."

Totally worth the smack to the back of his head.

**cut**

Gloria led them around the different girls getting ready for the night. Stiles had no idea the lengths to which they went to beautify themselves. His dick twitched in sympathy pain at the elastic or whatever it was used to hold everything in. He was lucky the dress Derek had picked out had enough ruffles to hide anything obvious.

"Hi! Anita Cocktail!"

Stiles looked up at the girl wearing hot pink feathers. "The bar's out there."

The deep giggle kind of threw him off. But at that point, Stiles was starting to get into the whole drag thing. Except the tucking. Just. No. No thank you.

"No, silly. My name is Anita. Anita Cocktail."

"Ohhh."

He thought he heard a dumbass from Derek but chose to ignore it.

"So what's your name?"

"Um." Stiles fidgeted. Derek hadn't thought to come up with one beforehand which, again, just went to prove that he was not the planner in this operation.

"This here is Amber," Gloria cut in. "Amber Alert."

Derek barked out a laugh but it took Stiles a second to catch on. When he did, he was righteously indignant.

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm legal."

"I know, honey. Otherwise you'd never have made it through the door."

Stiles was seconds away from saying shows what you know that ID was fake I'm not 21 when Derek pinched his arm. His wolfy senses must've been tingling again.

"Anita, I need you to work with Amber here, she's a virgin -"

"How did you -"

"She means you've never done drag before," Derek cut in.

"Oh."

He didn't like the way everyone around him was suddenly staring far too intently at him.

"I'll take excellent care of him."

Stiles didn't like that smile from Anita either.

**cut**

He didn't have a routine, but that was okay, none of the amateurs did. They were there to walk on stage, pose and answer a few questions before being voted on by the judges. The ones who made it would go on to perform and get the chance to win the title of Jungle's Newest Diva. One by one they were called up to the mic. And even though this wasn't real, Stiles felt nervous. He shuffled his feet a bit and tugged at the yellow sequins that kept riding up his smooth, hairless thigh.

"Next up, we have Miss Amber Alert!"

Stiles stepped forward to wolf - heh - whistles and cat calls. His ears burned at some of the dirty comments. Derek, out in the crowd but still visible to Stiles, didn't seem to appreciate any of it, judging by his scowl.

"Miss Amber, we're going to ask you a few questions, get to know you a little bit. Sound good?"

"Sure."

He heard someone hoot and Stiles winked exaggeratedly. More people called out. He pivoted on his heels, jut out one hip and fluttered his lashes. So he was enjoying himself, no big deal.

"How old are you, Amber?"

"Just turned 21 last week." He flushed lightly at the lie. It only revved up the audience more.

"Sure you did, Sweetheart."

Gloria kept talking, asking Stiles question after question. He tried to be as funny as possible, let's be honest not like that's hard for him, but after awhile he tuned out her words. Stiles eyes fell on Danny, skin shimmering softly as he crept along the far wall. And Derek, too busy scowling at the stage, hadn't noticed.

"Favorite position?"

"Behind you!" he yelled out, hoping Derek would hear him over the sudden increase in volume.

"Ooh, you dirty girl!" Gloria slapped playfully at Stiles' cheek. It drew his attention away from Derek. Only for a second, though.

That second was enough to miss Fairy Danny sneaking up to Derek, eyes gone a silvery white.

"Okay, last request, Amber."

"Oh no," Stiles muttered as Fairy Danny's hand closed around Derek's throat.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll be gentle with you."

The crowd was laughing and Stiles was mentally trying to calculate how hard it would be to jump off the stage in heels. Because Derek wasn't shaking off the Fairy. His eyes were closing and his mouth opening to try and pull in air.

"We wanna hear you moan baby, give it to us!"

"Fuck, Derek! Hold on, I'm coming!"

Stiles dove off the stage.

**cut**

The good news was Derek didn't die, neither did Danny. They were able to free Danny from the Fairy and Stiles managed to walk, well limp, away with only a sprained ankle from his daring rescue mission.

The bad news? Explaining to his dad why Stiles was dressed in drag. He's still not exactly sure what he said. He blacked out or something during that conversation - thank god. He'd come back to as his dad said, "I'll love you no matter what. Just. Be safe. Please?"

God, what had he told his dad?

Also, and he wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing, he'd gotten a package in the mail from Gloria. She'd left a short note inside that read - In case you want to give it another go. Red suits you better.

Stiles tore apart the plastic wrap to find something shiny and red.

"What the fuck is this?" He unfolded the fabric, realized he was holding panties and promptly flung them across his room.

The rest of the day Stiles did his best to ignore them, where they had fallen half behind his desk. But nothing held his attention. He was morbidly curious by nature, so it only followed he'd be obsessed with them. He wondered if they were designed to hide his junk. The idea didn't seem pleasant and yet, after he was one hundred percent positive his dad had passed out for the night - no need for his dad to see Stiles in any other incriminating things thank you very much - Stiles found himself stripping off his clothes and shimmying the panties up his thighs.

"Huh," he said as he turned in front of his mirror.

They were actually really comfortable, clearly cut to fit a man and roomy enough for his dick. Roomy enough for his half hard dick. What the hell, he was getting off on wearing panties.

There was something about the feel of the fabric - satin, he thought maybe - shifting against him and the red making his pale skin almost glow. Jesus, he'd never admit it out loud but he felt pretty, or something, wearing them. Like he could waltz back into Jungle and get any guy he wanted while wearing these. Maybe even...

"What. Are you. Wearing."

"Derek!"

It was wrong, so so wrong, that Derek catching him turned his semi into a raging boner that could not be hidden in what little he was wearing.

"They're a gift from Gloria." And because he never could help himself, he tacked on, "like what you see?"

"I -" Derek cut off as his eyes flickered down to what was, in Stile's opinion, a pretty impressive hard on trying to make it's way out of his red panties.

Stiles moved his hands to cover himself up. Derek growled.

"Um?"

"Do you have any idea what you look like?"

Aaand cue complete and utter mortification. It wasn't like Stiles had been expecting Derek to like it. But to be disgusted. Stiles' boner problem was turning into less and less of one.

"And the way you smell." Derek stepped closer. Stiles stepped back. "Like sex."

Derek had him up against a wall now and was leaning into Stiles' space, breathing in deeply. Okay. So Stiles had a problem again. He was so hard and if Derek got any closer he'd feel it and oh, God. Derek rubbed his body up against Stiles, nose pushing at the soft skin behind Stiles' ear.

"Bad enough I had to see you up on stage like that, smelling the lust on every guy in the room. I wanted to shove you down, lift up that ridiculous dress and suck your cock."

Holy God.

"You could do that now. I'd, uh, like that. A lot. Even without the dress. So you know."

The smile Derek gave Stiles was all wolf, his eyes flashing red. Red like the panties Derek was running his fingers over.

"Fuck."

"Well," Derek pulled at the elastic waist, tugging until the head of Stiles' cock was visible. "Not yet."

Derek dropped to his knees and licked at Stiles, drew the head into his mouth and sucked.

"Been wanting to do this for a long time." Derek worked the panties down all the way, helping Stiles step out of them.

"You have?"

"Mhm." Derek nodded even as he worked his lips against Stiles' shaft. The vibrations had him biting his lip to keep from moaning.

"Christ, Derek, please -" Stiles choked off as Derek moved lower, licked at his balls and pumped Stiles' dick slowly.

"That all you have to say, Stiles?"

Stiles shook his head, completely speechless, then let it fall back with a painful thud as Derek moved back up and slowly took Stiles deeper into his mouth.

He couldn't speak. he couldn't fucking think past the feel of Derek's mouth, hot, wet, so tight around him. It was too much, Jesus, he'd never done anything with anyone and he was way too close. He didn't want to come yet, didn't want this to be over, for Derek to know he was a pathetic virgin and...

"Give it to me, Stiles," Derek growled against him, hot air brushing his tip before sucking him back in.

And holy shit he was coming, hard, in Derek's mouth, down his throat as Derek swallowed and it felt so good he wanted to fall to the ground and maybe take a nap before doing that again.

Derek stood up and crowded into Stiles again, holding him up against the wall. Stiles looked down and watched as Derek worked himself out of his pants, fucked into his fist fast and hard. The older man was panting, eyes red again and just a hint of fangs showing. If Stiles hadn't just come...Who was he kidding, he was already starting to perk up again.

"Stiles," Derek whined, head falling forward until it pressed against Stiles' shoulder. "Want you to smell like me. Always. So they all know you're mine." His hand was a blur of motion. "Can I?"

Stiles had no idea what Derek was asking for. Didn't stop him from saying, "yes, god yes. Please!"

He was being shoved down on his knees and Stiles thought he knew what Derek wanted. He opened his mouth and waited.

Derek groaned as his entire body tightened. But he didn't aim for Stiles' mouth. Instead, he pushed Stiles' head back, baring his throat. Stiles felt the splash of warmth on his neck and chest, come trailing down his stomach as Derek finished wringing every last drop out of himself.

Stiles was about to complain when Derek slumped down next to him. Large, hot hands pulled him down until the were both laying on the floor. Derek pushed up enough to kiss Stiles, their first oh god, sweet and slow. His fingers trailed through the mess on Stiles' body.

"Derek, what -"

But Derek only ducked his head and started licking the mess up, sloppy and loud with the flat of his tongue.

Stiles tried not to be turned on by it, he really did, but Derek's free hand was wrapping around Stiles' cock and he couldn't complain in the face of round two. Besides, it was only to be expected when you were dating a werewolf, assuming that's what Derek wanted anyway. Right?

"Right," Derek mumbled against Stiles' chest.

Oops. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. But at least he knew this wasn't a one time thing. Stiles smiled and resolved to send Gloria a thank you card.

Later though. Much later.


End file.
